Salazar Slytherin
by Starlight Glimmer
Summary: Your dream was to be famous even after your death. You have that now, but you aren't happy.


**Author's Note: Yay! I'm back home, so for Ralinde, I decided to get the Chocolate Frog Cards Competition done quickly. Don't want to keep you waiting! So, here's my entry for Salazar Slytherin. Please review and I hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: How many times do I need to tell you?! I am not, unfortunately, J.K Rowling and does not own Harry Potter.**

"We'll make a school, Salazar. A magical school, to educate young wizards and witches. The only school in the entire area of Britain and Scotland. All four of us, Salazar, building a school. We can even make houses, for each of us. The Founders of that school, famous even after our lifetime. Don't go Salazar. Stay with us."

-Rowena Ravenclaw

"Hogwarts. That shall be the name of our school. We'll send letters to the magical children in Britain, we'll make a train to bring them to Hogwarts. Salazar, you don't need to tutor privately by yourself. Together, we'll pass down knowledge."

-Godric Gryffindor

"There's no need to teach children Dark Magic! We can make subjects; Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, anything Salazar! Defence against Dark Arts! Don't leave! We can even write in green ink for the letters!"

-Helga Hufflepuff

"I will stay."

-Salazar Slytherin

**Salazar Slytherin**

You were standing at the tallest tower of your school, Hogwarts, with your best friend, Godric Gryffindor, shaking your mane of dark hair at his antics. He was waving his hands around crazily, trying to express his excitement at the success of our school. Hogwarts had not been welcomed from the start, no. Wizards were reluctant to let their children go to a school they have never seen, taught by people they never knew. You had snorted and sneered at Helga, when she went knocking on the door of every single wizard's home to prattle on about how Hogwarts offered the best (the only) magical education in the whole of Britain. Naturally, it didn't work. In fact, the only reason there were any students at all was because of your associations with other wizards, purebloods, and Godric's duelling skills were well known and had created quite a stir in the magical community. But now, Hogwarts had more than thirty students each year, which was a major success compared to the only sixteen they had at the start.

Life was good. Your name was becoming known in almost the whole Wizarding Britain, for being one of the Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and you were, simply saying, famous like you always wanted to be. As the only magical school in Britain, and now that people trusted us, requests and pleas were rolling in, everyone wanting to go to this school that we had made. You were honoured, positively gleeful, that people were depending on you to educate their children. After a while, there was not a place in the Wizarding World where people didn't know your name or your school. You were famous.

You sorted students every single year, into the house of bravery-foolishness-, with the intellectuals-the smart asses-, the house of kindness-softies- and of course, his house, the house of cunning and shrewdness. You, along with Rowena, taught Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology. Students went home every holiday and sang praise about you to their parents, and your reputation was good. You knew that even after your lifetime, you will be known.

After long, long years, you became unsatisfied. Yes, you were bathing in fame, yes, you were bloody rich and you were suppose to be happy. But you weren't and that was the entire point, was it not? You weren't pleased that there were so many-too many-muggleborns in Hogwarts, and not enough purebloods. You brought this matter up with Godric, with Rowena, even with Helga but they didn't listen. You were angry, and you wanted to make things right; NO MORE MUGGLEBORNS. So, you used your ability to say Parseltongue and you made the Chambers of Secrets. You traveled long and far, and brought back a Basilisk to kill Mudbloods, and you preached once again about pureblood ideals. Godric got tired of it, Rowena got angry and Helga just became worried. Barely a year later, they shooed you out of Hogwarts and you were, simply saying, furious. You sought vengeance.

Fifty years later, you died fighting a griffin, which really was ironic. Unbeknown to you, your three ex-friends sought your body, and they weeped for you. Helga, who cradled you and shut your moss green eyes, Rowena, who tenderly covered you with your deep emerald robe and Godric, who just closed his eyes in sorrow and bowed his head. They carried you back, you know, they never stopped missing you.

Helga painted a portrait of you and Rowena casted a charm to make you seem lifelike. They hung your picture at the entrance of the Slytherin common room, so you could guard your snakes.

Even after all this time, you still hang there, listening to Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black, Rodolphus Lestrange, speak about a man, supposedly a descendant of yours, and how he sought to exterminate muggles and muggleborns. They spoke of you, of Salazar Slytherin, and you know that you are still well known in the world. How can you not be, when you built the most prestigious school in Britain?

This was what you wanted, was it not? To be famous? But you weren't happy, and you wished that you never created the idea of pureblood ideals, that you never made the Chamber of Secrets, that you never left your three friends.

This wasn't what you wanted.


End file.
